


Same Coffee, Different Containers

by enkelimagnus



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: The sweet and comfortable routine of a show day for Midge and Susie
Relationships: Miriam "Midge" Maisel/Susie Myerson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Same Coffee, Different Containers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LieutenantCharlesLorem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantCharlesLorem/gifts).



> Hope you will enjoy this! I had a lot of fun writing it!  
> I hope you have wonderful Holidays!

Midge can’t really remember the times when she put so much effort into getting up. She used to run around with the determination of a goose on a vengeance against someone that passed by. She used to make sure everything was always perfect for Joel.

She used to do all of these things to make his life perfect. How ridiculous. How sad. The worst part was that she used to love it. She used to love this half life, always rushing behind to be perfect for Joel. She used to love that perfection. 

She still loves it, but differently. She still loves perfect dresses and shoes and hats that matched. She still loves putting on makeup and making sure she looks perfect, with curls that both bounce slightly but are locked so tight they are almost crisp to the touch.

She loves putting her apartment together and making sure everything’s ready. She loved putting the whole apartment together yesterday, making sure everything was ready for Hanukkah. It’s not her favorite holiday, but it’s a holiday where she can cook marvelous things.

She can make a brisket, and latkes and sufganiyot and her entire place smells like oil but what’s the point of that holiday if not to smell like oil? Sure, the liberation of the Jewish people and the fight against assimilation is all well and good, but what is it to latkes?

She’s pretty sure the first candles from last night are well extinct now. 

She needs to get up, to leave the warm embrace of the sheets and blankets and Susie by her side and clean everything, get everything ready for the day. They have a show tonight and she wants to get tomorrow’s food started before they go.

The pillow smells like lavender as she presses her face into it. That’s something new as well, a sign of Susie in her life. They’ve discovered that she sleeps much better with that little luxury, and Midge has gotten used to it.

She takes a deep breath again before she throws open the blankets and slides out of bed. Her fluffy slippers are on the side of the bed, slightly askew, the way they tend to be now. There’s some clothes thrown over the chair, a book half open on the floor, and they just had time to turn off the disc player before falling asleep. 

It’s much messier than it used to be and yet incredibly comforting. Midge pads into the kitchen and puts coffee on the stove, her motions automatic. She pours water into the bottom, adds the filter and the grinded coffee, adds the top and sets it all to boil while she gets everything else ready.

Within ten minutes, Susie’s grumbling in with her usual morning face. Her arms wrap around Midge.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” Susie mumbles into her hair. Midge exhales. She’s reminded of that every other morning, in this exact fashion. She loves it.

“Not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me,” Midge shrugs, and takes a bite out of the toast Susie’s reaching for. 

The coffee pot gurgles from the stove and Susie sadly has to unwrap herself from Midge to get it. Midge’s already put her cup and Susie’s mug on the table, one fine and flower-painted and the other rougher and bigger, a perfect miniature representation of them. Same coffee, different containers.

Midge settles down for breakfast. Susie’s hair is spiked and unruly. It will probably stay that way all throughout the day, spikes hidden under her cap as usual. It’s cute, the way she's so ruffled in the morning.

They eat in silence, until the radio is turned on to their favorite station, music and comedy. It’s 9 in the morning and Midge feels like dancing. 

They’ve settled in a pleasing routine for both show days and Shabbat. After breakfast, baths and clothing, they’ll both stick to the kitchen, listen to the radio or chat while Midge makes food for the next couple of days. Shows leave her happy and exhausted and with no desire to cook, and Susie’s cooking is… disastrous. 

They’ve discovered how amazing having something in the fridge is when it’s 3am after a late night of comedy and work. 

It’s also a time where Susie makes phone calls and writes dates of shows on her little notebook. It’s a “pink monstrosity” that is “absolutely unprofessional” and that she uses anyway because she knows how Midge loves it, and she actually doesn’t care about how it looks. 

It’s calm, it’s warm, it’s like the whole day melts away in between Susie’s curses and the smell coming from the oven. Midge tries out jokes and fakes offence when there is less than praiseful feedback. It works and it’s perfect and it’s home.

Soon enough but not too soon, the night starts falling and it’s time for candle-lighting and for Susie to hover in the doorway watching her strike a match and say the prayers. She never speaks or interferes in those moments but she always watches, comfortably.

A light dinner is had, they talk more and kiss more and get ready. Midge spends an hour in the bathroom, Susie is ready in five minutes but her shirts are clean every day now, there are no holes in her socks. They both look happier, healthier. 

That’s something Midge has noticed in the reflection of the mirror when she gets ready. She’s more adventurous with her clothing and her lack of perfection, but she smiles more about it. Her perfection is less vengeful. Susie’s untidiness is less out of necessity and self-discomfort, and more out of a general fuck you to the world, which is so much more her style.

Hand in hand, with latkes for the bosses of the club and jokes zinging back and forth, they get into a cab towards the Village. 

New York is bright and loud as ever, beating like the heart of their life. Midge misses it when she’s away. That beat is home. She’s home.


End file.
